Jack Bettridge

Jack Bettridge

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The first thing I did when I heard the unsettling news Monday morning was to run out to the liquor store and buy a 1.75-liter bottle of Maker's Mark—not because I needed a drink at 9:30 a.m., but because I wanted to secure some of the original proof Bourbon from Loretto, Kentucky, before it sold out.

I
have a confession to make. For three seasons now I have been hooked on
what is essentially a soap opera: Masterpiece Classic’s “Downton Abbey,”
produced for British television, but shown here on PBS.

Sure
it’s very classy and all, telling the fictional story of a noble
English family during the last days of the great manor houses in the
early 20th century, but still—I admit—it is a soap opera. And I’m hooked
at the gill—addicted to this show that is more the kind of
thing my wife would watch than my smoking buddies. Even while I was
performing the manly rite of watching the Super Bowl on Sunday I was
secretly recording “Downton Abbey” on DVR for later viewing. (No! I
didn’t forsake my beloved Ravens during the brownout.)

Some
invitations you don't turn down—so I didn't. Jimmy Russell, master
distiller of Wild Turkey and a Bourbon titan, visited New York from
Lawrenceburg, Kentucky, last week to pour some American Honey at Blue
Smoke, the Danny Meyers barbecue joint in Murray Hill. You get the
picture. This wasn't something I was going to miss.

It's
no secret: pairing cigars and spirits is my thing. But I don't regard
the actual mixing of the two a particularly palatable proposition. That
is, I don't dip my cigar's head into a brandy snifter before smoking it
and I don't feature tobacco that has been flavored with whiskey—even the
Maker's Mark cigar that has been aromatized with one of my favorite
Bourbons; it smells and tastes rank when you light it.

We
place a lot of importance on the age of things. Age generally confers
quality on old whiskeys and wines. However, when it comes to seafood and
athletes, we usually prefer them fresher. Ever think about the words
you’re using and how old they are?

Everyday
life is so full of doublespeak that I’m always surprised to encounter
straightforward speech. George Orwell shined a light on deceptive
bureaucratic wording in the novel 1984,
in which the Ministry of Truth is actually busy falsifying history and
the Ministry of Love is where you go to get tortured. Today, in real
life, the concept is more pervasive. For instance, we have such
institutions as the “employment bureaus,” which are really unemployment
facilities designed for those who have been laid off only to be told
they were “downsized,” or some such euphemism. And the examples go on
and on.

I
know a lot of guys are flummoxed about what to give for Valentine’s Day
tomorrow. You don’t want to buy some jewelry that might not go with her
other accessories and you certainly don’t want to fatten her up with
some expensive chocolate.

Over
New Year’s a friend told me he resolved to give up cigars in
2012—except on special occasions. So I wondered what such a regime would
look like for me, so I decided to craft the following smoking calendar
for the next month, starting today, that would indicate special
occasions on which I could smoke:

A
popular line around our office is to refer to a cigar as a good
“breakfast smoke." That means it's an admirable cigar, but
mild-bodied—the kind of thing you light to wake up your palate in the
morning. Every New Year's I'm reminded of what the best "breakfast
drink" is. You can toast with whatever you want to when the ball drops
the night before, but in the harsh light of dawn it has to be the Bloody
Mary.